


Always Another Chance

by KatFow0496



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Drug Addiction, POV Sherlock Holmes, Rehab, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatFow0496/pseuds/KatFow0496
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is addicted to drugs. John rescues him. I'm not good at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic work. Please be kind. But, I would love constructive criticism. Thanks.

Sherlock Holmes had seriously fucked up this time, there was no dispute on that fact. He owed his dealer quite the sum of money for his cocaine, but he hadn't cared. It was good cocaine. After he exceeded half of his marketable price (as a slave), his dealer sold the debt to another man who sold him into sexual slavery for a profit. Which is how he came to be a sex slave. The man who had bought his debt (and had effectively bought Sherlock himself) was rather into public humiliation and BDSM styled fetishes. Sherlock, being the obstinate bastard he was, generally would not comply to what his Master had wanted of him. His pride and self-dignity were constantly in the way of his willingness to bow to this master. In spite of every consequence he had thrown at Sherlock (occasionally literally), Sherlock was still undyingly obstinate, so that man, sick of Sherlock’s stubbornness and deciding to cut his losses, sold him to another slave trader by the name of Victor.

Victor was exceedingly possessive of Sherlock. Yet, he did not care so long as Victor kept him in supply of his cocaine, or pretty much anything else that would drown out his mind's unending noise, his release. That was the whole reason for all of this, the Masters and Traders and Collectors, he wanted that silence, he needed that silence. It was driving him mad, the static of the facts, the deductions, the thoughts. But nothing else mattered to Sherlock, not ever, just the silence, the respite from his genius. His willingness to do anything for that cocaine (his seven percent solution), especially after that two week long hell of withdrawal and humiliation at the hand of his previous Master, was what brought him to the Trader's Show with Master Victor. He paid no heed to anything but his Master's supply of narcotics, he didn't care about anything else.

Victor was always the last to leave at these sorts of things, so it was rather surprising when the sandy blonde man in the cuddly jumper walked in just a moment after everyone else (aside Victor's entourage) had left. It was even more strange when he offered to buy Sherlock off of Victor for three times what Sherlock thought he should be worth at street market value.

The man was on shorter side of the national average height. Sherlock's mind was simply intrigued by this man. He was a doctor of sorts (probably a surgeon), a soldier as well, so probably RAMC, he was here on business for sure, but he looked so simple and kind and trustworthy. But he was hiding something, Sherlock was certain. What was he hiding?

“He’s not for sale! Or trade! Or anything! Get out of here!” Victor was getting angry, Sherlock loathed when Victor got angry, it quickly escalated to a certain kind of hell for him. But, at least, this hell was much more tolerable than his own mind.

“Oh, come now,” coaxed the sandy blonde, his deep blue eyes sparkling. “I do have quite the pretty penny.”

“I’m not interested in your pennies.” Victor was at the end of his tolerance, it never took long for that to come. “Boys.”

“Really?” scoffed the antagonist, almost merrily, “You can’t do it for yourself?” As the first three surly men appeared to take care of the short fellow, something about him changed. The change was so instantaneous, that it was almost terrifying. In fact, it might have been if Sherlock hadn’t been so busy being intrigued.

This small, average seeming bloke went from almost endearingly cuddly, to complete soldier in milliseconds. That was what he was hiding, wasn’t it? He wasn’t just some happy-go-lucky Army doctor, he was a covert operations specialist. He had to have been one with the moves he was pulling on these high end body guards. He was landing so many blows that it was difficult to believe that he was, in fact, a human being. These expert level fighters were landing more blows on each other than they were on the man clad in the white-with-black-stripes-but-not-the-other-way-round jumper. The fight was over in less than two minutes. Which meant that the only people left standing in the room, were Victor, Sherlock, two other slaves that Sherlock didn’t bother to learn the names of, and this man. Sherlock was intrigued by the ability to switch back-and-forth between his kind, gentle self, and this super-soldier.

“Would you like to give it a go now, Victor?”

Victor hollered and darted toward him. He had Victor down on the ground before Sherlock had the chance to blink. He, then, went to each of the four men had taken down, and put a bullet in between each of the eyes, Victor was last. “Now, can I have him?” asked the man politely.

“Yes, God! Yes, just don’t kill me!”

“You shouldn’t beg, it’s unattractive.” And with that he pulled the trigger, putting Victor out of his misery. “You three!” he was calling out to the remaining three people, the slaves. “It’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt any of you. But, I would recommend you come with me. Probably before the cops show up.”

Reluctant to have any level of dealings with the police, Sherlock and the others followed the man out of the warehouse, and into a parked gray sedan.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock to the house.

The drive took nearly ninety minutes to complete. When they arrived, Sherlock almost couldn’t believe what he saw. On the grounds of this spectacular mansion, there were so many people milling about. Everyone was so joyful at being there. But, more importantly, everyone there had been an addict of one sort or another, most of them seemed to be from the sexual slavery line as well. Nearly all of them had completed successful rehabilitation, and those that hadn’t were fast on their way to one. Even the employees appeared to share that history. 

“So, we’re just gonna pull up, then, I would like very much for you three to follow me, alright?” The jumper-clad man didn’t expect for any of us to answer. He pulled up just out front of the mansion and parked. Leaving the car running he stepped out and called (rather patiently) for a young man by the name of Wesley to park the car, but to keep it close. 

As they stepped into the mansion, what they saw were nearly a dozen people milling about the place with purpose. All were clearly rehabilitated addicts, but they all seemed to have gotten over their typical traumas and addictions. Several of them called out greetings to the man in the striped jumper. He nodded his responses politely. 

The three followed him into what appeared to be a small office, where a girl in her early twenties was waiting. He smiled his greeting to her, and she spoke softly, “Good evening, John.”

“Evening Mary. Three today.” John gestured toward Sherlock and the others. 

“I’ll have rooms prepared.” Mary bowed out to get the rooms ready. 

John spoke again after a moment, “My name is John Watson. I’d like very much to get to know you three, and I’m having some rooms set up for you. If you would like to leave, feel free to go at any point, just inform either Mary or myself, or one of the other staff about your intentions. Otherwise, you are welcome to stay for as long as you would like. The ground rules are no drugs, alcohol, or other addictive substances are allowed on the grounds. Since you three have just arrived you will be needing to undertake a detox process. If you would like, I can send you off somewhere to get clean or you can do so here. I don’t mind either way. If anything should happen and you should need to talk to me, call me. My mobile number is printed right next to every land-line in the house. Even if it’s just to talk.” He paused to smile at them and gesture for them to take a seat as he sat down himself, but not behind the desk. But, instead, across from Sherlock on a sitting chair. 

“But, I will need to know some basic things about you.” He began again. “Like your clothing sizes, and preferred styles. What sort of hobbies you have so I can have things sent to your rooms. What you like to eat. That sort of thing. I’d also like each of your names, but whether you share those is up to you. Also, I will need to know how you would each like to get clean. I’ll give you each a basic checkup to make sure that you’re not in any immediate medical danger, outside of the drugs, of course.” 

This was the point at which Sherlock realized that John wasn’t faking pity or sympathy. He really did want them all to be healthy, and to be happy. John wasn't superior to them, nor did he try to be. The bright blonde Mary walked back into the office room with a young brunette and spoke just as softly as before. “The rooms are ready John. We have a set of sweats in each that look to be about the right size. I’ll get the proper clothes for them as soon as I get their sizes and preferences.”

“Thank you, Mary. Alright. Ladies, Molly will lead you up to your rooms. I’m going to ask that you stay in your rooms until I get a chance to do a quick medical check. I should be by within the hour.” He turned to Sherlock, who was still dressed in a halfway gone T-shirt and torn up pair of skinny jeans (not that the girls were much better off), and said, “And I’ll show you to your room, and do a quick check. Come on.” With that John grabbed the aluminum cane that leaning on the side of the desk, and Mary grabbed the Doctor’s medical bag and followed behind Sherlock who followed John.

John slowly began with a slight limp as they walked up the flight of stairs to the fourth floor. “So, what’s your name?” John asked.

After a moment’s debate as to whether he should answer, his elegant baritone said, “Sherlock.”

“Odd name, Sherlock,” John teased kindly. “You have a last name?”

“Holmes.” Sherlock was a bit surprised at what was going on. John had just brutally destroyed four men in under five minutes, and now was kindly joking with an addict and a slave that he rescued. It was a bit odd. “It’s Sherlock Holmes.”

This gave John pause, and he visibly cringed. “Sherlock Holmes? As in Mycroft Holmes’ brother?”

Sherlock nodded irritably at the association. “Yes. Unfortunately. Why?”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, your brother has been looking for you. Now, you’ve got some choices. You are most certainly welcome to stay here-”

“Sir-” Mary interrupted, clearly disturbed by the topic, “Are you sure that’s wise? Holmes is ruthless. He’ll take you out without thinking twice if he finds out. Oh, sorry, no offense, Mr. Holmes.”

“Mary, what have I said about the ‘sir’ thing? Just John. Anyway, Mr. Holmes, like I was saying, choices. The choice is ultimately yours. You can stay here for as long as you need to. Whether I tell your brother that you’re here is your decision. You can just leave in the morning. I can have someone drop you off pretty much anywhere. I can send you to a rehab facility, but your brother will hear about that. I’m certain of it.” John clearly did not like Mycroft, thought the worst of him probably, but was too polite to mention it. 

“It’s just Sherlock, Mr. Holmes is my brother. I’d like to stay here, without my brother’s meddling. I don’t like him much either.”

“Alright Sherlock, so your room is just over here.” John opened the last door on the left side of the hallway. The room appeared to be a small sitting room with a door opposite the one they just walked in. Gesturing to the other door. John said, “Your bed is in there along with a drawer and wardrobe. There’s a change of clothes in there. They’re just a set of sweatpants, and a shirt, but they should work until Mary has the chance to get you something else. Now, if you’re up for it, I’d like to check you, medically.”

Sherlock consented and they were done with it in just over ten minutes. Leaving, John motioned to a land-line on a table in the sitting room and spoke, “If you need anything, or if you just want to talk. My mobile number’s next to the land-line. Feel free to call, alright Sherlock? And make sure you tell Mary what she needs to know to get you some proper clothing.” When Sherlock nodded, John smiled and left, presumably to check on the two girls that had come in with him. 

Once John had left, Sherlock relayed his preferences in style and size to Mary, who took note of everything he said and replied, “The change of clothes was left on your bed. It includes socks, pants, sweat pants, a shirt, and a jumper. If anything is wrong, in terms of size, or material, or anything, ring the bell in the sitting room. Someone will be by to help. I also need to arrange how you intend to get clean. I’ll let decide since you’re so cognizant, even high.”

“I’d like to left in a room with food and water, enough for a couple of months, nothing easy to break in there. No medicine, either. If I’m going to stay clean, I’m going to need to do it this way.”

“You have lost your mind! That’ll be rather hellish, don’t you think?”

“Yes.”

“And you still-?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Would you like dinner brought up tonight? Or would you like to go down? And don’t say that you won’t eat. John fusses over things like that.”

“Here will be fine.”

“Alright, it’ll be up here in an hour. Should be enough time to shower, and change. Since those aren’t your style anyway, would you them binned or kept?”

“Binned."

“Alright. Go on. Shower. Change. Toss those rags into the hallway just in front of the door. Someone will be by to take it. Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Thank you, Goodnight Mary.” After Mary left a moment later, Sherlock went in to the bedroom. It was quite a bit larger than expected, and the en suite bath was good as well. Sherlock got into the shower where a sticky note written up by a left-handed male read: ‘Don’t worry about hot water, we’ve quite the boiler.” Sherlock read the note then tossed it into the small bin next to the loo. 

Sherlock stepped into the stream of warm water, and showered properly for what felt like the first time in months, possibly because it was. As Sherlock enjoyed the warm water he considered the events of the day, and could, with fair certainty, say that this practically suicidal man was the most interesting and surprising man he had ever met, and would likely ever meet.


	3. Chapter Three

When Sherlock woke the next morning three suits had been delivered, as well as five silk shirts of varying colours (including a deep blue, violet, green, black, and white). After he showered, he dressed in the purple shirt with the gray suit trousers, leaving the jacket off. 

It was nine fifteen when a knock at the door relieved the silence. Mary stood there and queried into whether he would like to come down to breakfast, or have it sent up. He hadn’t touched his dinner from last night, so he declined breakfast. Instead he asked, “Will I be remaining here while in detox?”

“No, John will take you to another on site facility. You’ll detox there. He’ll be taking you there tonight. While you are there, you’ll be provided cheap copies of some books so that when you destroy them it won’t cost as much to replace. John will be the only medical person in the facility. He will take care of you when you need it, and he will check in on you at certain points to ensure that you don’t severely injure yourself. Detox is hell enough on its own without you hurting yourself.”

“Alright, will there be others there?”

“John is the only person who will be allowed to interact with you at all. Currently, no one else is there, nor is anyone else scheduled to be there. However, we may gain additional patients between now and the time that you complete your treatment. He should be by here at about three this afternoon. I will send some lunch up for you at noon.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Why not? You’ve got to eat.”

“Where is ‘John’?”

“He doesn’t live in the mansion. Why won’t lunch be necessary?”

“I’m not hungry. So where does he live if not in the mansion?”

“I don’t actually know where he really lives. Sometimes I think he doesn’t live anywhere if I’m honest. He spends so much time here. But if you don’t eat, I will have to tell John.”

“Tell him what you want.”

“Fine.” With that and a sigh of disapproval, Mary left with her phone in her hand, already dialing John’s number. Sherlock sat in one of the chairs and at noon there came a knock at the door. Sherlock stood almost immediately. The brown haired girl named Molly stood there with a tray of food in her hands and a nervous smile on her face.

“I brought you some lunch.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Mary told me. I thought maybe I could bring you something.”

“Not necessary.”

“Alright. Well, Mary said that I should leave this here with you then.” Sherlock accepted the tray then Molly continued, “So, will you be going to a facility than?”

“No.”

“Oh. So, what’s your name anyway?”

“Sherlock Holmes, Molly. Why do you work here?”

“I don’t know. John offered me a job, so I took it. Good thing, too. I’m not sure anyone else would hire me. How did you know my name?”

“I heard it last night. Why not at least apply to the morgue?”

Clearly taken aback at the suggestion, Molly fidgeted uncomfortably. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you would do well in a morgue. No living people. Just corpses and paperwork. It would quite suit you, Molly.”

Surprised and obviously embarrassed, Molly nodded slowly and quickly turned away from the door and hurried away. Sherlock didn’t understand why everyone did that. Walked away after he told them the truth about themselves. He pondered that for a while then wondered why John had come and rescued him at all. John didn’t know who he was, But when he had shown up he had asked after Sherlock specifically. After puzzling it out and finding no reasonable answers, Sherlock gave up the puzzle and decided to explore the mansion and surrounding lands in the meantime.

Leaving the lunch Molly had brought for him, he changed into the black suit and black shirt and left his rooms clean and clean-shaven. 

He wandered the halls for two hours. During which he located the kitchen, the dining room, the conservatory, the library, a smaller library, three offices, several lavatories, a small study, a couple dozen bedrooms, a parlour, two sitting rooms and a door that he could only assume led to the attic since he could not open it. After that, he went outside. He wandered into a garden with nearly every plant that wasn’t poisonous or could be used for drugs. Sherlock was rather impressed with the variety of vegetation in the gardens. But once he saw the collection of bee hives at the far edge of the garden, he was absolutely smitten.


	4. Chapter Four

After having sat in front the hives until the sun went down, Sherlock decided he should probably go back up to his rooms. On the way back he came across a bench with a man sitting on it and a cane resting against it. Recognizing the cane, Sherlock stopped just short of the bench and John motioned for him to sit down. It was several moments before John spoke. “So, you like bees?” John was smiling, he sounded like he was smiling. Sherlock only nodded his short reply. “What did you do?” John ventured mildly, “Before the drugs, I mean.” 

When Sherlock shook his head, John stayed silent. Sherlock began wondering what he did wrong this time, and he began to wonder why it mattered to him what was wrong with what he said, or rather, hadn’t said. Sherlock didn’t do people, why would he? He didn’t like them, and they didn’t like him. He always scared them away. Just when Sherlock thought he should go before he caused more harm, John queried quietly, “What did you want to do?”

“I-” Sherlock paused, not certain if he should be honest, or polite, but honesty won out. “I wanted to be a detective.” His words were almost silent against the sounds of the night. Sherlock held his breath as John let several minutes pass.

"You any good? As a detective, I mean."

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" John look surprised. But confirmed that it was Afghanistan. Then paused.

"I also know you're an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan, where you were more than just a doctor, and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid." Sherlock waited for the typical curses and insults, but they didn't come.

"How did you know all that?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. The way your hands are callused says doctor. So army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists: you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp is really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were probably traumatic: wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan: Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp. Of course you've got a therapist."

"That was...amazing."

"You think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite... extraordinary." 

"That's not what people normally say." 

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off!'"

At that, John chuckled, and Sherlock quite enjoyed the sound of amusement, but he would never acknowledge it. The chuckling faded into a companionable silence for what felt to Sherlock not to be long enough before John spoke again. "Come on, I was supposed to drive you out this afternoon. That was hours ago. You don't need to bother with grabbing anything, everything you'll need is already there. I'll get the car ready out front. Ten minutes, alright?"

"Alright." John stood up, cane in hand, and limped back in the direction of the mansion. Before he knew it, Sherlock was following him. First, into the office room where he asked Mary to ready a car. Then, into the hall, where John spoke to Molly. "What's bothering you, Molly?"

"Well, it's just, I was thinking..."

John made a sort of kind, comforting, and reassuring face. "Yes?"

"Well, I wanted to look into maybe getting a job. I mean, at the morgue. Not that I don't like this job, I do. I just-"

"It's alright, Molly, relax. Of course, go look into a job at the morgue. If you need any help, just talk to Mary, she'll get you set up, and if she can't help, call me, alright?"

"Yes, thank you, John. Thank you so much."

"Sure thing, Molly. Anytime. Anyway, I'm off. Later."

"Bye John." Molly started back toward the office, but ran into Sherlock (quite literally) first. "Oh, sorry!"

"No need."

"Oh, it's you. Listen, I'm sorry about this afternoon. I was just really surprised. You're just so-"

"Really, there's no-"

"It's just- You're so unusual."

"To say the least."

"Anyway, John's just that way," Molly pointed back the way she had come, "aren't you supposed to be going?"

"Quite right."

"Goodbye Sherlock!" Molly called toward him as he started off toward John. He caught up to John on John's way out of the kitchen, with two boxes in his hands.

"Oh, hello Sherlock. Ready to go?"

"Yes, of course."


End file.
